


You're Doing it Wrong

by Jaiden_S



Series: Finding Our Way [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Romance, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/pseuds/Jaiden_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving in with Steve seemed like a good idea to Bucky at first, but everything Steve did drove him crazy. He drove recklessly, couldn’t cook and constantly invaded Bucky’s personal space. Everything Steve did was wrong. Sometimes, though, wrong feels pretty damned right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Doing it Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, Alexcat!
> 
> The story takes place about a month after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. It can be read as a stand alone or as companion piece to "Will You Be Here When I Wake Up?" which can be found here: [LINK](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2282226) The storyline remains the same, though the tone is much different.  
> Two more stories in the same timeline follow this one:  
> "Rules are made to be Broken" which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2444789  
> "Best Christmas Ever" which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2785697
> 
> For more Stucky goodness, tumblr with me! - <http://jaiden-s.tumblr.com/>

Bucky stared out the window of Steve’s sports car and watched the scenery fly by at 80 mph. From the moment he’d opened his eyes two weeks ago in a private hospital south of the city, Steve had been at his bedside, every day, all day, smiling and holding his hand and cheerfully chattering away. Bucky was grateful. Steve Rogers was one of the few memories that cut through the fog in his mind. He knew the man on the bridge before he even knew his own name. As it turned out, though, the man on the bridge was a terrible driver.

Steve was driving like a bat out of hell, partly due to the fact that he felt the need to point out every single landmark, sign and blooming plant along the side of the highway. Bucky gripped the door armrest so hard it left indentions. And that was with his real hand. 

“See that? It’s a Japanese Magnolia,” said Steve, swerving across four lanes of traffic so Bucky could get a better look. “Really pretty in the spring. DC’s full of them.” He reached over Bucky and pointed, nearly sideswiping a Buick in the process. 

“Eyes on the road,” ordered Bucky. 

Steve grinned. “Sorry. Sometimes I get distracted.”

 _No shit._ Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When Steve suggested that Bucky come home with him after his release from the hospital, Bucky immediately said yes. His only other option was to transfer to a halfway house, since the government demanded that he be somewhere he could be monitored 24 hours a day. So, Steve Rogers it was. Steve and his crappy driving.

“Hey, want to pick out some music?” Steve reached for the stereo and veered into the other lane, eliciting an indignant honk from the car that already occupied it. He jerked the wheel back. “Oops.”

“Both hands on the wheel,” said Bucky. He punched the power button and the hard thump of electronic dance music filled the car. 

“Sorry. Nat rode shotgun last week and I let her pick the music.” Steve reached for the stereo again, but Bucky swatted his hand away before he accidentally pulled into the path of an 18-wheeler.

“Will you please just drive?” Bucky couldn’t hit the seek button fast enough. He skipped through five horrible stations before landing on something with a little less bass and a little more melody. 

Fifteen white-knuckled minutes later, Steve pulled up in front of a small cottage and turned off the engine. “Here we are. Home sweet home.” He hopped out, popped the trunk and hoisted Bucky’s small overnight bag up on his shoulder.

Bucky’s mind immediately clicked into gear and began assessing every little detail. Small house, no more than 1300 square feet. The front door was wooden and could be easily kicked in, so he’d have to talk with Steve about replacing it. The swing on the front porch blocked part of the window to the right and would provide cover in an active shooter situation. If he needed to fire shots at an intruder, that would be the window to blow out first. They’d also need to have a conversation about the shrubs around the side of the house. They were all wrong. Too many places for potential intruders to hide.

Steve unlocked the door and stepped inside. “The kitchen is straight back, bedrooms and bathrooms to the left. I’ll put your things in the back bedroom, if that’s okay. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour,” he said.

Bucky continued with his assessment. Ten steps to the rear of the den, seven more to the back door. Four windows along the wall on the right, probably two more in the kitchen all of which needed inspecting. He’d have to check the back door and make sure the deadbolt worked properly. 

Bucky made his way down the hallway to the rear bedroom. Steve trailed behind him, cheerfully prattling on about laundry or groceries or something. Bucky had already tuned him out. The bedroom had one tall window in the center of the rear wall, a modest closet, a dresser with matching nightstand and a bed with a curved metal headboard and footboard. Bucky froze. 

“That bed,” he said, cutting Steve off mid-prattle. “I remember one like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I remember climbing in a window and shaking the rails of a metal bed. Some little kid was asleep. Some blond kid with a bad cough. I shook it until he laughed.”

Steve grinned sheepishly. “That was me. When I’d get sick, you’d sneak in through the window and try to cheer me up.”

“Oh,” said Bucky, surprised. “I forgot we’d been friends that long.”

“Best friends,” corrected Steve. “We grew up together.”

Bucky nodded, lost in thought. A snapshot memory of him sitting on the edge of the bed reading aloud a copy of the newspaper popped into his head. “You were sick a lot. I read to you.” 

“You hardly left my side.” Steve dropped Bucky’s bag on the end of the bed and motioned for him to follow. “Hungry? I can make sandwiches. You always liked grilled cheese.”

Suddenly, Bucky was famished. He followed Steve to the small galley kitchen and gave the back door a good once-over. It would suffice, but the door frame clearly wasn’t steel and the deadbolt looked like it had seen better days. It would have to be replaced, too. He needed to make a list.

“Stand down, soldier, and get the butter out of the fridge,” chided Steve. “You can case the joint after we eat.”

While Steve heated the pan, Bucky got out the butter and put it on the counter. Much to Bucky’s dismay, Steve dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m toasting the bread.”

Bucky elbowed Steve out of the way. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You toast the bread in the pan, and…good lord, Steve. How much cheese do you have on these things? Five slices is way too much.” Bucky loaded a sandwich with three thick slices of cheddar, buttered one side of the bread and dropped it into the warm pan. “See? And you let it sit for no longer than three minutes, and the pan can’t be too hot.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve leaned on the counter behind him and popped the tab on a cold ginger ale. 

Slowly, Bucky turned around. “You just tricked me into making lunch, didn’t you?”

“And you’re doing a damned fine job of it,” replied Steve. He winked and raised his can of ginger ale in salute.

“You little shit,” groused Bucky. The words slipped out before he could stop them, and for a split second, he wondered if he’d just ruined everything.

To his relief, Steve erupted in laughter. “There’s the foul-mouthed jerk that I know and love.” He slapped his leg and laughed harder.

Bucky bit back a grin. “Punk. I should burn yours on purpose.”

~*~

Apparently, Steve had given Bucky’s first day in his new home a lot of thought. After lunch, he dragged him to the den, planted him on the sofa and trotted out a box full of musty old junk. Steve rooted around and dug out a stack of tattered old Brooklyn Dodgers programs held together by a decaying rubber band that snapped when he dropped the stack on the coffee table. “Here,” he said plucking one out of the stack. “The line-up for St. Louis from May ’39. We used to sit in the cheap seats and heckle the opposing team.”

“You picked fights with the opposing team’s fans,” said Bucky, eyeing the line-up. “I did the heckling.”

“That’s because you were better at it,” Steve replied. “You used swear words I’d never even heard of.”

“It’s a gift.” Bucky cut his eyes at Steve, who was all up in his personal space, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He made a show of reaching for another program and scooted half an inch away when he sat back.

“Ooh, what year is that one?” Steve immediately shifted closer and reclaimed the space between them. 

Bucky handed Steve the program. “Same year, different series. Pittsburg.” He again scooted away again, but Steve followed him. 

“See this guy,” said Steve, his fingernail tapping the yellowed program. “You really rattled him. When you yelled that he’d been born with a tail, he lost his religion.”

Bucky grinned. “One of my more inspired moments.”

“Celebrate it, because they’re few and far between.” Steve’s eyes danced with mischief.

“Remind me again why we’re friends?” asked Bucky as he reached for the box full of crap.

“Because I’m the only one who’ll put up with your bullshit.”

“Thanks, Steve.” He shoved his hand all the way to the bottom and pulled out something…odd. “What is this?”

Steve smiled from ear-to-ear. “It’s a skate key! Oh, boy. I haven’t seen one of those in years! Remember those metal-wheeled skates that attached to your shoes? We’d use the keys to tighten them.” He turned the key against his hand like he was winding a clock. 

Bucky scratched his chin. “Was there a hill near your house?”

“It was closer to yours.” Steve hiked up his pants leg and pointed to a white scar just below his knee. “Freddie Wentz shoved me to the ground about halfway down the hill while we were racing. Then, I’m pretty sure you broke his nose.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “What did you say to him to piss him off in the first place?”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “I might have said something in passing about his strong resemblance to a horse’s ass.”

“Of course you did. Your mouth wrote a lot of checks your body couldn’t cash.”

“That’s why I kept you around, to bail me out of trouble.”

And so it went for the rest of the afternoon. By sunset, they’d picked through every item in the box, and Steve had Bucky wedged into the corner of the sofa, trapped between the sofa armrest and his quite substantial frame. If Steve scooted any closer, he’d be in Bucky’s lap.

“I need a break,” said Bucky who, by this time, was halfway up on the armrest. 

“Sure,” said Steve. He stood up, stretched and offered his hand to Bucky. “I’ll make dinner.”

Bucky gripped the offered hand and was surprised by how easily Steve pulled him up. “What are you making?”

“Turkey meatloaf.”

“Have you made meatloaf before?” 

“Nope, but I have a recipe. How hard can it be? A little meat, a few breadcrumbs. Pop it in the oven, voila, done.”

Bucky followed Steve into the kitchen and watched with rising apprehension as he started dumping random ingredients into a large stainless steel bowl. He lasted a full two minutes before he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Stop. You’re doing it wrong.” Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulders and moved him to one side. “You have to assemble the dry ingredients in a separate bowl and then add them to the ground turkey.”

“Okay. You want me to cut up the onions and bell peppers?”

A vision of cruelly massacred veggies flashed before Bucky’s eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “Just set the table and…”

He looked over his shoulder and caught Steve’s sly grin. “I just fell for it again, didn’t I?”

“Like clockwork,” laughed Steve. “You’re so predictable. And anal retentive.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what that anal retentive meant, but he felt certain it wasn’t a complement. “Whatever, asshole. You’re doing the dishes.”

~*~

After dinner they flipped channels for a couple of hours. Bucky wasn’t familiar with any of the TV shows and the constant commentary about the fall of SHIELD on the all-news channel set his nerves on edge. They finally settled on a Washington Nationals game that went into extra innings. By the time the game ended, it was late.

“I’m hitting the hay,” said Steve as he stifled a yawn. “See you tomorrow morning.”

“G’night, Steve.” Bucky watched him amble back to the bedroom and he suddenly felt anxious. For the past two weeks, every time he’d had a nightmare, there had been a nurse or a doctor or Steve by his bedside to help calm him down. Now, he was on his own. 

He changed into his pajamas, turned out the light and slid under the covers. The moonlight cast strange shadows on the wall. Tree branches moved like long fingers against the window shades. The night was deadly calm. He pulled the covers up around his neck and lay flat on his back, willing himself to sleep. Gradually, he relaxed and was nearly asleep until a car backfired somewhere in the distance. He flew out of the bed like a shot.

“Steve,” he said quietly as he hovered in the doorway of his friend’s bedroom. 

Alarmed, Steve sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

“I…um…” Bucky fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt.

Without a word, Steve patted the other side of the bed. Bucky gratefully climbed in next to him. It was a big bed and the mattress was soft and the pillows were fluffy. Bucky sank down into them and was asleep in minutes.

He awoke the next morning with an arm thrown over his waist and a nose buried in his long hair. Steve had pressed himself so close that Bucky doubted a flea could crawl between them. The man had no concept of personal space. None. And that’s when he noticed his growing predicament. Shit. Of all the times for his body to decide to work again. He tried to carefully extract himself from Steve’s loose embrace, but there was no way to do it without waking him.

“G’morning,” Steve mumbled sleepily. 

“Going to take a shower,” said Bucky, careful to keep his back to Steve. God knows he didn’t want to advertise what was going on in his pants.

“I’ll start breakfast,” called Steve.

The shower steamed up quickly, and Bucky stepped inside the glass stall to take his issue in hand. How long had it been since he’d done _that_? Years? He didn’t know but the first touch felt amazing. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander to a pretty girl with long dark curls he knew a long time ago.

“Hey, Buck, how do you want your eggs?” Steve opened the bathroom door and poked his head in.

“Get out!” howled Bucky, turning his back to the door.

“Since when are you modest? I’ve seen it all before anyway,” said Steve with a laugh. 

“I don’t care, just shut the door!” Bucky covered himself with both hands and scowled at Steve over his shoulder.  
“Fine, you’re getting scrambled eggs, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Steve closed the door, still chuckling.

“Jesus,” sighed Bucky as he slumped against the glass wall of the shower. Privacy was going to be an issue.

He finished his shower, toweled off his long hair as best he could and pulled on his jeans. The shirt he wanted to wear still had a tag on it, so he padded barefoot and shirtless into the kitchen. “Where are the scissors?”

Steve blinked at him and made some strange gurgling noise in the back of his throat that quickly turned into a cough. 

“You okay?” Bucky wondered if something was wrong. Then he remembered his arm. It did have a certain off-putting effect the first time you saw it. He shrugged. “The arm’s kind of hard to take at first.”

Steve coughed again and grinned. “I’m fine. So’s your arm. The scissors are in the drawer to the right of the fridge.”

“Thanks.” Bucky snipped the tag off and pulled the shirt over his head. He could feel the weight of Steve’s gaze on him as he dressed, but he pointedly ignored it. 

“Eggs are ready.” Steve held out a plate which Bucky took and sat down at the table.

A sharp knock sounded at the back door and Steve went to get it. “Hiya, Sam.”

A tall, slim black man dressed in running clothes stepped into the small kitchen. “Hey, Steve.” He eyed Bucky warily, but offered a tentative smile anyway. “I’m Sam Wilson. Do you remember me?” 

“Yeah, I tried to kill you,” said Bucky. He half stood and reached across the table. “Bucky Barnes, retired assassin.”

Sam shook his hand and grinned at Steve. “You’re right. He is a smartass.” 

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Steve. “Want some eggs?”

“No way. I’ve tasted your eggs. They’re at least 25% eggshell.”

“Closer to 50%, but who’s counting?” Bucky crunched down hard on one to prove his point.

“Everything’s going okay?” said Sam, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Have you guys had a chance to talk?”

“It’s all good,” Steve quickly replied. He shot Sam a look that immediately raised Bucky’s suspicions. 

“Cool, then I’m gonna finish my run. Take it easy,” said Sam. He backed his way out the door and closed it behind him.

“What was that about?” Bucky flicked a piece of eggshell away with his fork and took another bite.

“Sam’s just looking out for me and making sure we didn’t need anything.”

Bucky put his fork down. “He doesn’t think I’ll try to kill you again, does he?”

Steve joined him at the table. “Not a chance. Besides, I know how to handle you. Open the bathroom door while you’re showering and you come unglued.”

Bucky’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “…Steve…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do _that_ again,” he snickered.

~*~

“Do you have any laundry? I’m about to start a new load.” Steve wandered into the den with a basket half-full of dirty towels.

“A few t-shirts. Hang on.” It had been a couple of days, and Bucky had settled nicely into Steve’s household routine. He scooped up his pile of dirty laundry from the bedroom floor and made his way to Steve’s bedroom. Steve was sprawled across the bed, feet in the air, trying to tuck a fitted sheet around the far corner of the mattress. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making the bed, smartass,” said Steve. 

“By lying on top of it?”

Steve shrugged. “Crawling over it seemed easier than walking around to the other side. Drop your clothes in the basket and I’ll start the load in a sec.”

Steve pulled the topsheet across the bed and began haphazardly wadding the ends of it under the mattress. Bucky nearly lost his mind.

“No, no, no. That’s a terrible fold. You’re doing it wrong.” Bucky pushed Steve out of the way and untucked the wrinkled sheet. “You want hospital corners. First you tuck it under, then you fold it just so and…” Hell. He’d walked right into that one.

Bucky sighed and turned around to see Steve leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “You’re doing great! Keep going. The clean pillowcases are in the bottom drawer.” A sarcastic little smirk tugged at the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“You keep screwing up on purpose,” accused Bucky. “Nobody is that much of a domestic disaster.”

“I am,” said Steve with a self-satisfied grin. “You used to make our cot during the war because you couldn’t stand the way I did it.”

“Wait, we shared a cot during the war?” Bucky frowned. 

Steve’s face fell ever so slightly. “A lot of the guys doubled-up. Real cots were scarce and it beat sleeping on the ground. I thought you remembered.”

“No,” said Bucky. “But it’ll come back to me.” 

Steve smiled, but couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes. “Yeah, I know it will.”

~*~

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I can call and cancel,” Steve said as he pulled on his jacket.

“No, go and have fun at the movies. You’ve been stuck here with me for over a week. You deserve some time with your friends.”

“I’m not stuck anywhere,” Steve said earnestly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.”

Steve was always saying things like that and Bucky never knew how to take it, so he just shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so.”

The doorbell rang. Steve answered it and a pretty girl with long blonde hair stepped inside. “Bucky, this is my friend Sharon Carter. Sharon, this is Bucky Barnes.”

“Ma’am,” said Bucky extending his hand to her. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” she replied. She gave Steve a little wink. “He’s handsome. No wonder it’s so hard to drag you away.”

Steve gave her a sharp look and shook his head ever so slightly. 

Bucky’s eyes darted between Sharon and Steve. Something was going on, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. 

Steve placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the door. “The movie starts at 9:30, so we need to get going.”

“I’ll have him home before midnight,” said Sharon. She gave Bucky a knowing smile. “He’s in good hands.”

“Okay,” said Bucky, confused. “Have fun.” He closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, trying to sort out what had just happened. 

Then it hit him like a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky. “They’re dating,” he said aloud. They had to be. A stab of jealousy sliced right through him, and he inhaled sharply. Jealous? Why was he jealous? Steve was a grown man and could date whoever he wanted to date.

He slumped down on the sofa and flipped channels. Two hundred channels and nothing was on. He settled on a biography about Teddy Roosevelt and tried to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering, and his eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall over the TV. Hours went by, midnight came and went, but no Steve. Bucky fumed. Where was he?

Finally, at 1am, he gave up and got in the bed. He buried his face in Steve’s pillow. It smelled of Ivory Soap and sunshine and all of the spicy musk that was uniquely Steve. For a moment, it was almost like Steve was there with him, spooning up behind him, burying his nose in his hair. Bucky sighed and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

“Hey, Buck,” whispered Steve in the wee hours of the morning. “Move over and let me in.” 

Bucky rolled over to the other side of the bed and let Steve climb in behind him. “Where have you been?” asked Bucky sleepily.

Steve draped an arm over his waist and curled against him. “Just talking. We lost track of time. I should have called.”

“It’s okay. Don’t let it happen again.” Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed.

“It won’t,” Steve mumbled against the back of Bucky’s neck. 

~*~

In the morning, Bucky peeled himself away from Steve and eased out of the bed. His usual morning situation rose to greet him, and he carefully arranged his pajama bottoms to hide it. Steve was out like a light, thankfully, so he slunk off to perform his morning routine.

The hot water felt good on his back. He let it roll over his shoulders as he reached between his legs. His thoughts drifted, but not to one of the girls from his past. No, this time his thoughts were filled with Steve. Steve’s bright blue eyes and Steve’s broad shoulders and Steve’s full lips locked around his cock and… _Oh, shit._ Shocked, his eyes snapped open. He was in big trouble.

~*~

Unfortunately, Steve seemed even more demonstrative that usual that day. A squeeze of Bucky’s shoulders here, a touch on his back there, a casual brush of his thigh. Bucky could hardly concentrate. He needed something to occupy Steve’s wandering hands.

“Do you still draw?”

“Every chance I get,” said Steve.

“Show me some of your artwork,” Bucky suggested.

“Okay!” Steve looked thrilled. He hopped up from the sofa and practically floated back into the room a few minutes later with a box full of sketchbooks. He dropped one of the books in Bucky’s lap. “That’s my most recent stuff,” he chirped happily. “Mostly landscapes.”

Bucky opened the cover and flipped to the first drawing. “Wow, Steve. These are amazing,” he said. “You’re really talented.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” teased Steve. “I’m good at a couple of things.”

“Right. This and what else?”

Steve rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Rescuing best friends from behind enemy lines.” 

Bucky shrugged him off and flipped to the next page. “Cocky bastard,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be as humble and unassuming as you, Buck.” Steve dropped his chin back down on Bucky’s shoulder and reached around him to turn the page. “Washington Monument last March, right at the peak of cherry blossom season. It’s one of my personal favorites.”

It was stunning. Bucky traced one of the flowers with the tip of his finger. “The blooms are so delicate.” 

Steve beamed with pride, and they sat just like that, with Steve’s chin on Bucky’s shoulder until they reached the end of the sketchbook. Bucky dropped it on the coffee table and eyed the rest of the sketchpads.

“What else is in there?” he asked. A worn, tattered sketchbook caught his attention. He pulled it from the box before Steve could stop him.

“That one’s old,” said Steve with a hint of anxiety in his voice. He made a grab for it, but Bucky was too fast.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let’s see what Little Stevie drew back in the day.”

He opened the cover and there on the first page was a sketch of his own smiling face. “That’s one attractive guy,” he said.

Steve made another lunge for the sketchbook, which Bucky fought off with a forearm to Steve’s ribs. “It’s not very good,” Steve said. 

“Sure it is. I look incredibly handsome.” Bucky flipped through a series of sketches, mostly of himself, the drawings becoming more accomplished and finely detailed the further he went into the book.

“Can we please look at something else?” Steve pleaded. He looked desperate which gave Bucky a healthy dose of smug satisfaction.

“No way.” Bucky flipped another page and there he was, sitting on a porch swing with a floppy-eared dog in his lap. He laughed out loud. “That’s ole Roy! He belonged to Widow Murphy.”  
On the next six pages were various sketches of him sleeping all over Steve’s house, napping on the porch, the sofa, the floor, the bed. “Did I really nap that much?”

“It was the only time you were still long enough for me to sketch you.” Steve grabbed for the book once again, but Bucky snatched it away. At this point, Steve’s panic was full blown. “All the rest of the drawings are the same. Really. Let’s watch TV or something.”

Bucky frowned. “What is it you don’t want me to see?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed, and he dropped his hand into his lap without saying another word.

With rising curiosity, Bucky turned the page. His eyes widened. There on the paper was image of himself, naked and wantonly laid out on the bed, looking like he’d just been thoroughly fucked. “Holy shit.”

Steve looked like wanted to die. 

“We were lovers?” 

“Yeah.” Steve stared down at his folded hands. “A long time ago.”

Bucky tossed the sketchbook onto the coffee table and shifted to face Steve. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I wanted anything from you other than friendship, and when you didn’t even remember that we shared a cot, I decided not to tell you right away.” Steve turned his head to look Bucky in the eye. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Bucky rubbed his forehead. “How long were we together?”

“About a year during WWII. You got drunk one night and I kissed you and everything went downhill from there.” Steve gave Bucky a little smile. 

“Were we in love?” 

Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes and he blinked them back. “Yeah, Buck. We were.” He sniffed hard and rose from the sofa. “I think I’m gonna go read for a little while,” he said, then slowly walked back to the bedroom.

Bucky sat rooted to the sofa, unable to do anything but watch him go. He had been in love with Steve Rogers. Well, he guessed that explained the pang of jealousy he’d felt the night before and the vision of Steve in the shower this morning. It also explained the weird reactions from Sam and Sharon. Damn. Everyone knew but him.

Carefully, he picked up the sketchbook and turned to the next page. Another sketch of him, naked in bed, eyes heavy lidded with desire. Bucky swallowed hard. Was that how Steve saw him? He swiped his hand across his eyes and turned another page. Him again, looking right at the artist as if he were the only person he’d ever wanted. He certainly looked like a man in love. Why didn’t he remember it?

~*~

Dinner was awkward. Steve pasted a smile on his face and chatted away, determined to pretend everything was fine. Bucky couldn’t pretend. He silently picked at his food until it was cold, then raked it off into the trashcan. 

And then there was bedtime. Bucky couldn’t decide if it would be worse to sleep in his own bed for the first time since he’d been there or crawl into bed with Steve, knowing his heart was breaking. 

He changed into his pajamas and shuffled to Steve’s bedroom to tell him goodnight. Steve glanced up from his book with such a hopeful look on his face that Bucky’s heart clinched. “Hey,” he said, stepping into the room.

“Hey,” replied Steve. He put his book down on the nightstand. “I was hoping you’d come in here. You want to talk about it?” 

Bucky most certainly did not want to talk about it. He’d rather watch 24 hours of C-SPAN and have his leg hairs plucked out one-by-one than sit and talk about it, but Steve looked so encouraged, and after everything that had happened today, Bucky couldn’t bear to disappoint him again, so he nodded.

Steve waited until Bucky was sitting on the bed next to him. “So…?”

Shit. Steve wanted _him_ to do the talking. Bucky floundered for a question that wasn’t too wildly inappropriate. “What were we like?”

“As a couple?” Steve chewed on his lip as he considered the question. “Not much different than we are now. Maybe a little more affectionate.”

More affectionate? Christ. Steve was already handsy as hell. Bucky couldn’t imagine having his personal space invaded more than it already was on a daily basis. “Was I all lovey-dovey and disgusting?” The thought made him slightly nauseated.

“What? No. You were a jerk.” Steve gave his arm a little shove with his shoulder. “Most of our relationship was the same as it is now. There was just more sex.”

Well, of course. Bucky knew that part was true. He’d seen the artistic evidence of it with his own two eyes. “It’s hard for me to wrap my head around,” he said. “We were soldiers. When did we have time to…you know…”

“We shared a tent, and the fellas left us alone in there for the most part.” He cut his eyes over at Bucky “Do you remember the night after I rescued the 107th?”

“Yeah. We all went out for drinks.”

“Peggy Carter joined us too, in her red dress.”

Bucky had forgotten about her, but it all came back in a sickening rush. Jealousy hit him like a surprise left hook to the jaw and sent his head spinning. “I remember,” he said quietly. “You loved her.”

Steve raised his shoulders in a half shrug. “You sure thought I did. We argued about it. You got drunk and stormed back to the tent.”

“Three sheets to the wind, huh?”

“Two and a half and clinging to the third by the skin of your teeth,” said Steve. His eyes misted as he spoke. “But when you looked at me that night in the darkness, I knew you were the one I wanted. I kissed you on impulse, never daring to hope you’d kiss me back. But you did.”

“And then we…”

“Yeah,” Steve finished.

“So, you took advantage of me being drunk,” teased Bucky.

Steve barked out a laugh. “Hardly! I had no idea what I was doing. It was all you that night.”

“I wish I could remember, Steve,” said Bucky earnestly. 

“I know you do.” Steve offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just try to get some sleep, okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. G’nght, Steve.” He rolled over on his side and waited for Steve to spoon up behind him.

“Night.” Steve switched off the light, and to Bucky’s disappointment, rolled over to face the other direction.

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes.

~*~

The next morning Bucky woke with his arm slung around Steve’s waist and his nose buried in the short blond hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. It was nice. He snuggled against him and…Oh, God. His usual morning situation was nestled right up next to Steve’s ass. He knew he should roll over. He knew he should dart to the bathroom and take care of it, but the bed was so warm and Steve smelled so wonderful and felt so good in his arms and what would it hurt if he lay here just a minute longer? He pressed a light kiss to the tanned skin on the back of Steve’s neck.

A warm glow of satisfaction spread through him, and Bucky realized with a start that there was nowhere else he’d rather be than right there, in that moment, with Steve in his arms invading the hell out of his personal space. Was it love? Maybe. Probably. They’d figure it out. He tightened his grip on Steve’s waist and pulled him closer.

Steve stirred in his sleep. “…Bucky?” 

“Hmm?” He nuzzled Steve’s ear, then decided to kiss it, too.

“What are you doing?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted before kissing Steve’s neck again. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Steve rolled over to face him, eyes shining. “Me, either,” he said. He cupped Bucky’s cheek and brushed his lips with a soft kiss. “Was that weird?”

“A little,” Bucky said with a grin. “Good weird.” An image of them cuddled together on a small cot in a cold tent popped into his mind. “We used to snuggle like this in the mornings.”

Steve’s face lit up. “You remember.” He leaned in and kissed him again. “So, where does that leave us?”

“It leaves me with a raging hard-on.”

Steve closed his eyes and shook with silent laughter. “Damn it, Bucky. Way to ruin the moment.”

“What? It’s the truth,” he said, grinning. “If you want sugar coating, there’s some cereal in the kitchen.” 

“So noted,” said Steve. He rolled over on top of Bucky, slid his hands beneath him and settled between his splayed legs. 

Bucky grunted and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck. “Unf. You’re heavier than you look.”

“All you ever do is complain,” replied Steve. A half smile played on his lips and he rolled his hips. 

Bucky saw stars. He closed his eyes, arched upward and dug his fingers hard into Steve’s shoulders. 

“You’re not going to tell me I’m doing it wrong?” teased Steve. He ground his hips downward nice and slow. 

“Fuck, no,” Bucky gasped. “Keep doing it.”

As Steve bent down to kiss him again, Bucky decided that it didn’t matter how Steve was doing it as long as he was doing it with him.


End file.
